FullReads

I have said that I cannot embark here upon the history of sales of MSS. in the last hundred years. But my abstention, due to considerations of space, must not be imitated by my readers. Those who deal with modern collections or make collections of their own–a thing still possible for quite modest purses, in spite of the inflated prices which the great books command–are not absolved from the study of sale catalogues; that they will pay attention to book-plates, bindings, and names of owners, I need not repeat. The list of such catalogues issued by the British Museum they will find invaluable; the catalogues themselves, alike those of dealers and of sales, will often enable them to trace a particular MS. back through a whole century to some Italian palace or Flemish abbey, sold up or secularized under the stress of revolution. This period of MS. history has been less well worked than the earlier ones; it is but just ripening, in fact; but to anyone who is bitten with the passion for the books it will prove just as fascinating as the others.

CURIOSITIES OF RESEARCH

By way of conclusion let me come back from generalities to particulars, and attempt to kindle interest and stir the imagination by a few words on waifs and strays–the curiosities of MS. research. Some few leading instances have been mentioned, but in thinking over the collections I have examined and the documents I have had to copy or edit, others, less immediately showy, occur to my memory.

What has become of the Red Book of Eye in Suffolk? It was a copy of the Gospels which St. Felix of Burgundy, the apostle of the East Angles, brought with him in the seventh century. It was after his death in a monastery at Dunwich. Then it passed to a little priory at Eye, where Leland saw it. After the Dissolution it remained with the Corporation of Eye–now extinct–and people took oaths upon it. It is traceable in the records down to a comparatively late date–within the nineteenth century. Can there be truth in the tale I have heard that it was sent for safe keeping to a mansion not far off, and there cut up for game labels? I cannot believe it.

No doubt MSS. were cut up for game labels. I have seen–years ago–in a London shop one that had turned up in a billiard-room, and its blank margins had been many of them removed for that purpose. But there was a fashion equally reprehensible a hundred years ago of cutting out illuminations from MSS. and making scrap-books of them. It was especially common in the case of the great antiphoners and other huge service-books which stood on the lecterns in Italian churches. The remainder of the books went to the gold-beaters, perhaps (they used parchment, and in England bought MSS. sometimes to cut up), or to a like destination. Occasionally books so mutilated have been reconstituted. A leading example is that of a Josephus, illuminated in part by the great Tours artist Jean Foucquet. This the late King Edward VII. and Mr. H. Y. Thompson were able to combine in restoring. The King had a number of the pictures, cut out, in his library at Windsor; Mr. Thompson had the mutilated text and a pictured leaf or so. The fragments were brought together and presented to the Paris Library, which already possessed the first volume of the set.

A miniature, cut, no one knows how long ago, from a fine twelfth-century Bible, was shaken out of a pile of printed copies of a funeral sermon at a country house. The book to which it belonged I believe to be one at Lambeth.

In 1890 Mr. Samuel Sandars bought at a London sale a scrap-book containing two leaves of a beautiful and very early Book of Hours. He gave them to the Fitzwilliam Museum. In 1894 came the Fountaine sale, and then Mr. William Morris bought the MS. from which these leaves had come. An arrangement was made between him and the museum that he should possess the leaves, replaced in the book, for his life, and then the museum should acquire the whole at an agreed price. Alas! he did not live to enjoy the ownership of them long.